


Locked

by thekingofcarrotflowers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, I mean sorta, M/M, Spoilers, Spoilers for Bull's Personal Quest, The Bull makes a mistake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/pseuds/thekingofcarrotflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull has barely looked at, let alone talked to, Dorian since the Storm Coast. A cloud of loneliness hangs over Dorian, sometimes pressing in and suffocating, leaving him breathless. When Dorian goes to confront Bull about the cold shoulder he's been giving, Dorian begins to have doubts about their relationship and who the Iron Bull truly is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closed

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure if I wanted to upload this one! I felt it was a bit sloppy, but I wasn't sure what else to do with it, so here it is!!

Bull had barely looked at, let alone talked to, Dorian since the Storm Coast. There had been the night of drinking and celebration when they first returned, but even that evening had Dorian bantering more with Krem and the Inquisitor. Dorian understood; Bull needed his space. He felt vaguely guilty - for butting heads with Gatt and for his countrymen murdering Bull’s right in front of them. Suddenly, they were both outcasts from their countries, and Dorian knew he was just a reminder of that.

For the first three days back at Skyhold, Dorian didn’t even try to slink into Iron Bull’s bedroom in the dead of night. His days were spent in the library, reading over the same books for the third time, grudgingly giving Varic’s drivel a try. His nights were spent drinking, alone, in his room so he would avoid the Iron Bull’s cold shoulder completely. A cloud of loneliness hung over him, sometimes pressing in and suffocating, leaving Dorian breathless. He jerked awake from nightmares more often than usual, the other side of his bed painfully cold and empty. Instead of Bull’s strong arms wrapped around him, light fingers easing away the fears, he struggled through the too-still nights alone.

The Storm Coast had frayed his nerves as well, partly because of the Venatori’s persistence and expanding influence on Thedas, but more-so because of seeing Bull so vulnerable and torn as he was forced to make an impossible choice. Up until this point, Bull had been a rock, a solid brick wall with no inclination towards cracking. Now, spiderwebs were stretched over his surface, and Dorian knew one wrong blow could make him crumple. It was unsettling to admit that Bull had his weaknesses, since Dorian always saw him as this unstoppable, unwavering force. If anything, it made Dorian care more for the man, realizing it wasn’t just a matter of weak and strong between them. They could help each other, support each other. Bull had been right - they really weren’t that different after all.

On the forth night, Dorian couldn’t resist seeing the brute any longer. It was early enough that Bull should have been in the tavern. He hoped to catch him there, to butter him up with a few ales, and get him to finally talk to him. To finally look at him. Instead, he found an empty chair and a few miserable looking Chargers.

“Chief hit the hay early,” Krem said, looking solemn. It had taken some time, but Krem had finally warmed up to Dorian’s presence. It had been critical looks and jabs at the Altus, until it suddenly seemed like Dorian was welcomed into the group, “Been out of sorts ever since…”

Dorian nodded slightly, hand moving to nervously scratch at the hair shorn short at the side of his head , “So I gathered…”

“He’s been like that with us, too, Dorian. Don’t take it personal,” Krem advised, flagging down the barmaid to get Dorian a strong drink, “I think we’re just reminders of all that happened right now…”

Dorian sat down heavily across from Krem, “I know you’re right. He’s just so infuriating sometimes. I had just grown used to having the big oaf around…” He trailed off, knowing he was being selfish.

“Drink,” Stitches insisted when the barmaid placed the next round before them.

With long drags from the mug, Dorian easily downed most of his ale. It warmed his belly - it had been days since he had felt any sort of warmth. It was short lived, his heart dropping as he remembered Bull wasn’t there to enjoy the drink with him. A sigh at the thought escaped his lips. He hurriedly drank the last of his ale, hoping it would relax him. Instead, three drinks later, he’d grown more bold.

“I’m going to talk to him” Dorian said sternly, slamming an empty mug down on the table.

“Dorian, that might not be the best idea…” Krem eyed the mage with concern, “The big lug can be rather cold when he doesn’t want to be bothered.”

With a determined look, Dorian hurried to the stairs before the Chargers could change his mind. He hurried up past drunken soldiers, ignoring Krem’s persistent voice calling behind him. He ignored Cole as well, who looked on the cusp of saying something utterly revealing. Grabbing the doorknob to Bull’s bedroom, he pushed-

_Locked._

It didn’t budge, and Dorian froze. Bull’s door was always unlocked. It was unlocked when Dorian woke up at four in the morning in his own room, cold and alone, the fire in his hearth burned out. It was unlocked when he returned after storming off during an argument, Dorian growing mean and rude and selfish over something trivial. It was unlocked when Bull was preparing for the Storm Coast, on edge and uncharacteristically short with Dorian. It was just always unlocked.

It felt like a slap to the face, making Dorian feel entirely foolish. He had thought he was prepared for this, for the inevitable end, for the time when Bull finally didn’t want him anymore. He had known their escapades had been ridiculous and impossible and meaningless. He’d gotten far too comfortable, too accustomed to Bull being there for him, making him - Maker forbid!- _happy_. The locked door reaffirmed his worst fears about them, that small nagging voice that sounded awfully like his father growing to a consuming yammering. He’d been foolish to begin to let his wall down, to begin to let the Bull in.

Fighting back tears, hand still gripping the knob, he carefully placed his forehead to the door. His throat bobbed threatening. How stupid he had been…

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he turned away. Dorian wavered at the top of the small flight of stairs. He hoped, for a fleeting moment, that Bull would throw open the door and envelop him into those warm, muscular arms. Then, he sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to push the thoughts away.

Now, he hoped that Bull hadn’t even noticed he was there. He didn’t want Bull to hurt more than he already did, for the rattle of the door to remind him that Dorian was waiting and hurting, too. But, he knows the man noticed. Bull noticed everything.

Dorian hurried away, trying to ignore Cole again:

“Wounded and wondering, wistful and woeful. What if he doesn’t want me after?”

“Shut up, Cole!” Dorian snaps, much louder and more hurtful than he intended. He’s sure Bull heard that, too.

Hurriedly, unable to get out of the tavern quick enough, Dorian clattered down the steps. He tripped on the last stair, but hurriedly stumbled towards the door.

“Dorian!” Krem called after him, leaping from his seat at seeing how stressed the mage was. Dorian didn’t stop, storming off into the dark.

 

Bull watched from his window. His heart hurt and he felt guilty, but he couldn’t risk hurting Dorian more. The rattled of the door had caused his breath to catch. He’d struggled with the urge to throw open the door and pull Dorian inside. Instead, he idly cleaned his axe, trying to ignore Dorian’s bark at Cole.

He could tell from the way Dorian moved, from the tenseness of his shoulders and the way he passed a hand over his face, that he was crying as he dashed through the courtyard. Bull wanted to call out to him, rush after him, tell him that he was wanted and needed. But, it was better to let him go now that to hurt him worse later. He was an outcast now, a Tal-Vashoth. He had no Qun, no codes, no checks and balances to keep him grounded. It was only a matter of time until he became the things he once hunted…


	2. Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bull seeks out Dorian after realizing he's made a big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% sure about this ending/conclusion. BUT, here it is!  
> It starts with some stuff we saw in-game, and expanding on Bull's thoughts somewhat during the final part of his personal quest, before he reunites with Dorian.

It was the assassination attempt that had broke Bull out of his rut. Another painfully slow week had passed before the threat became real, something Bull was entirely prepared for and barely batted an eye at. One of the men managed to get a blow in, leaving his arm stinging and smeared with blood. The Inquisitor was there, backup in case anything went wrong. Really, this was nothing compared to the torment going on behind Bull’s eye, the reliving of the sinking ship, the remembrance of heat against his skin as everything went up in flames, the image of Dorian’s retreating form in the night.

“You interested in getting some payback?” The question surprises him a little, the Herald using going for peace and understanding first, kicking ass later, and the severity in her voice makes him remember how ruthless she can be in battle.

“Against who?” he shrugged those massive shoulders again, unconcerned. It sent a slight twinge of pain through his injured bicep, “The entire Ben-Hassrath? Besides, this wasn’t serious. Sending two guys with blades against me? That’s not a hit. That’s a formality. Just making it clear I’m Tal-Vashoth…”

Saying it out loud made his chest hurt again. It made him angry, mostly at himself. Without the strict guidance of the Qun, he was scared he’d lose control, lose those most important to him. Even with the Qun, he hadn’t exactly been rule-abiding, had always had his doubts about his self-control. It was a major factor in why he had pushed Dorian away, to keep him safe. Bull always had something to keep him grounded before, so his blood lust never got out of hand. The Qun had always been there, in the back of his mind, keeping him in-check. He’d been worried Dorian would be the most likely to face the worst of the repercussions, getting the Bull riled up in more ways than one.

“Tal-Va-Fucking-Shoth…” he growled, the word sending a chill through him. Shaking his head, he tried to escape the feeling, “I killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth in Seheron. Bandits, murders, bastards who turned their back on the Qun…” His tone of anger and disgust was clear, “And now I’m one of them…”

“Bullshit,” the Inquisitor said sharply, surprising Bull again. She was usually softer than that. He almost commented on the bad pun, but decided it wasn’t the right time, “You’re a good man.”

“Without the Qun to live by…” he sounded broken, lost. The Inquisitor was reminded of that day, when she made the decision to save the Chargers for him. He’d looked the same then, somehow smaller, cracks starting to show on his edges.

“Hey,” her voice softened, more like normal again, “You’re a good man. If they can’t see that, they’re loss.”

“Thanks, Boss,” he replied quietly, “Anyway… I’ll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened.”

He paused, thinking for a beat.

“Boss? … Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… This is where I want to be. Whenever you need an ass kicked, the Iron Bull is with you.”

Speaking it made Bull realize how true it was. After being so unsure of his place, he’d found somewhere he felt at home. The Chargers were more of a family than he could ever had hoped for. The Inquisition gave him both friends and something worthwhile to fight for. And, Dorian-

“Bull?” the Inquisitor asked after a long silence.

“I gotta go, Boss,” Bull said, starting forward, “Has Dorian been in his usual haunt in the library?”

“Ah… He hasn’t been there as often, as of late,” she admitted, looking relieved that Bull had come to his sense. Dorian had, drunkenly, come to her one of the previous nights to vent his pains and frustrations, reduced to tears of anger and heartbreak. As quickly as he arrived, he had retreated into the night, ashamed and lost. She’d gone looking for him the next day, unsuccessfully, “Honestly, he’s been hard to find…”

Bull swore under his breath, realizing how badly he had messed up. Just how badly he had hurt Dorian.

 

On his way up to Lelianna, Bull checked the library. Dorian’s usual chair was empty, a stack of tomes untouched. He picked up a few, recognizing titles that Dorian had been carrying with him prior to the Coast. He swore, causing a few mages in the area to shush him.

After a hurried meeting with Red, he knocked on the door to Dorian’s room. Hoping Dorian wasn’t going to ignore him in retaliation for the other night, he waited for longer than necessary. Listening closely for any clues, there was no sharp breath of surprise or hurt. There was no rustle of pages or of bedsheets. Once the Bull was sure the mage wasn’t held up inside, he began to search through all of Skyhold. He needed to find somewhere secluded and cozy, he decided, where Dorian could hold up an read - or brood - for hours.

It took two hours of padding through unfamiliar halls, squeezing into nooks and crannies that looked promising. There seemed to be an endless supply of empty, ruined rooms, covered in ivy, within Skyhold. Each one of these on the upper levels was explored thoroughly before the began to descend into the dungeons and hidden passageways beneath the surface.

His horn left a long gouge in a stone wall under the castle when he misjudged how narrow the passageway was becoming. It took a lot of careful sidestepping and awkward movements to move in these cramped quarters. This part of the fortress was certainly not built for someone of this size, thought he could imagine Dorian swiftly moving down these dim passageways in search of a refuge.

Finally, it was in some library vault where he found Dorian. When the Bull eased open the door and saw a plethora of dusty books lining the long hall, he was sure this was where he’d been held up these past days. Patches of cobwebs still hung to spots on the shelves, looking like someone had started to clean them up before losing interest. A flickering light of a candle burned, casting long shadows around the room. Bull cautiously stepped inside.

“Dorian?”

There was an old desk in the room at the end of the hall. A large book was perched upon it. He heard the sound of a page turn, but no reply.

Inching closer, footfalls echoing down the passageway, Bull spotted a few empty wine bottles scattered around the room. He slowed as he neared the desk and peeked over the it with some effort, careful not to clear the shelves of books with his horns, knowing that would just spark further rage in Dorian. The mage was nestled in the small space, legs crossed and a book in his lap. His normally perfected hair was crumpled and oily, like nervous hands had run through it frequently. More bottles littered the floor around him. A blanket was bunched up next to him.

Bull sighed, drawing back slightly. A bottle went skidding towards Dorian, but elicited no response from the man.

“Dorian, just how long have you been here?” the Iron Bull asked, feeing guiltier now that he saw the state Dorian was in.

Pretending to be engrossed in his book, Dorian’s mustache twitched but he didn’t answer.

“I came to apologize,” Bull continued after a beat. Still, nothing. With a deep breath, he continued, “I thought that pushing you away would keep you safer, keep you from being hurt…”

Even being a Ben-Hassrath hadn’t kept him from making this mistake. Things got messy when emotions were involved, when you truly cared about someone and would do anything to keep they safe, to keep them alive. Bull thought that it meant distancing himself from the mage, making sure any animalistic tendencies he had buried away inside his mind wouldn’t come crashing down on Dorian. He hadn’t realized just how deeply the other man care for him, or how deep his old wounds ran.

“You aren’t as good as reading people as you think you are, then,” Dorian said, still not looking up, voice dripping acid. Still, his voice caught, betraying his emotions, showing how deep the hurt was.

Bull sighed, though he was relieved Dorian finally spoke to him, “Maybe all my abilities were taken away when I was stripped of my title.”

Dorian snorted, “I doubt that, Keeper of Illusions.”

It hurt. Bull flinched at the malice he found there, but figured he deserved it. Dorian doubted Bull now, doubted his true feelings and motives. His title and position as Liar of the Ben-Hassrath had been revealed, and now Dorian was wondering if it rang true in other parts of Bull’s life. How easy it would be for Hissrad to lead him on, spin webs of lies that Dorian tangled deeper and deeper into. Truly, it had been too perfect, the way that the Bull could fill every need, grant every wish, quell every fear. He had been foolish to think that it was somehow real, when it all came from a Qunari spy.

Yet, Dorian’s mind flashed to Bull on the Storm Coast, face broken and unable to make the call without the Inquisitor. He thought of restless nights with the man, when neither of them could sleep and took solace in either other’s embrace. He thought of the Iron Bull’s unbridled laughter, rumbling through the tavern when Dorian was finally able to make a successful jab (not too cruel, not too revealing) at Krem. The warring thoughts left Dorian a mess, sleepless and unsure what to believe, receding deeper and deeper into Skyhold as he also receded deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind.

“I’m scared of what I might become. Savage, weak, an animal,” Iron Bull admitted, hoarse and quietly. This caused Dorian to look up abruptly, eyes going wide for a moment at the confession. Bull is laid bare in front of him again, and Dorian’s not sure he can handle seeing the splinters and cracks there.

Dorian relaxed, glancing downwards again, “I’ve never met a man with more self-control than you.”

Bull smirks, darkly, “Without the Qun-”

“ _Fuck_ the Qun,” Dorian barked, fists clenching. Bull is startled by the spike in Dorian’s anger, falling quiet, “You haven’t truly followed the Qun in this long. You’re more than all that, as little credit as you give yourself. Why does it suddenly matter again when they decide to disown you?”

Something in it was revealing. Then, Bull remembered he’s not the only one to become an outcast because of bloodshed, and he starts to understand that this hurt has spread, connecting itself to old wounds and tearing them open again. Their feelings of betrayal, of being unwanted, of not fulfilling what they were bred to do are shared. Bull began to muse on this, trying to find the right words not to make the hurt worse. He’d seen it happen too many times with Dorian, when the mage took the Bull’s words wrong, when Cole tried to unwind some of Dorian’s deepest hurts.

“If you didn’t want to see me anymore, you could have just told me,” Dorian’s voice was quieter, but no less acidic. His voice was unsettlingly composed as he continued, “It’s not as if I haven’t heard it countless other times before…”

Iron Bull flinched again. The thought of his name being added to the list of men who had used Dorian, who had crushed his heart and taken advantage of him, made him feel sick. He had really fucked this up.

“Kadan-”

“Don’t,” Dorian said, through gritted teeth.

This wasn’t going well.

“I still want you,” Bull said quietly, shoulders slack and head tipping down. A familiar feeling of loss, a deep ache in his chest makes his body begin to grown numb.

There was the clinking of bottles, grumbled Tevene swears, and then Dorian was standing in front of him, arms crossed. His hair was utterly a mess, worse than after their hours-long marathon sessions. The rings around his red eyes were dark and puffy. Some of his buckles were half-done, half-undone, not done correctly. He looked about how Bull feels, really.

“Kaffas, you’re hurt,” Dorian uttered, hand going to reach for the wound.

“It’s nothing,” Bull grunted, doesn’t let Dorian’s touch it for fear of the poison he realizes may still be on his flesh. The wound had gone forgotten, even after Red’s insistence that he get it patched up, in favor of searching for Dorian. Now, it was scabbed over in parts, still oozing in others, “Besides, you’re hurt, too.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed for a moment, analyzing the large palm that’s reaching up towards him. He let it cup the side of his face, remaining tense and unsure for a long moment. Another rush of thoughts, of doubts and insecurities. It’s all a trick, a horrible, awful ruse that he’s falling for entirely.

It was the warmth there, the _care_ there, that made him begin to relax. After a moment, he leaned into the touch, sighed as his eyes fall shut.

“Bull,” Dorian said purposefully, gently. He finally realized now how similar they really are, how Bull was trying everything to make this mess right and had only managed to make it worse. He recalled things that Bull has said to him, in the dark of the night when Dorian starts from nightmares of blood magic rituals, of his father disowning him again, of his countrymen taking over the world and calling it a necessity. Bull’s only ever been propelled by someone else’s well-being, for someone else’s goals, whether it was the Qun’s or his contracts or Dorian’s. He always asked what everyone else wants, knows what everyone else needs, and overlooks himself time and time again, and Dorian realized that Bull is as clueless about his own self-worth as he is: “You are good, you are loved, you are wanted.”

Bull blinked rapidly, steel eye soft and suddenly wet with tears. Dorian raised his own hand, considerably smaller than Bull’s and pressed it firmly over the other man’s digits.

“Amatus, whatever was before, whatever is after, I will be here, if that’s what you want.”

He’s decided to let Bull make the decision, letting Bull decide what he _wants_ and _needs_ , for once in his life.

“Kadan,” Bull replied softly, leaning forward to place his head in the crook of Dorian’s neck, soft sobs beginning to wrack his body. “I want you. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize how much until I almost lost you.”

Gently smoothing his fingers across shaking skin, Dorian murmured: “You have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here: http://thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/


End file.
